One Mistake
by ThePagemaster1212
Summary: <html><head></head>Wee!Winchester story. Dean is 18, Sam is 14. How could it have gotten this bad? It was just one mistake. Just one, stupid overlook in common sense. How did it get to this? I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so, so sorry. Sam's revenge might just have a worse result as he originally thought. Will Dean survive? Will Sam survive?</html>
1. Chapter 1

How could it have gotten this bad? It was just one mistake. Just one, stupid overlook in common sense. How did it get to this? I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so, so sorry.

"Alright, boys. I'm going to be at the library today so Dean you're in charge. You know what to do. Sammy, listen to your brother," John commanded, looking at his two boys. One was already nodding in affirmation while the other was looking at him with barely controlled anger.

"It's Sam."

"Sure thing Sammy." Sam growled at the use of his nickname again. It made him sound like a kid and he wasn't anymore. He was almost old enough to drive, and he was in high school now.

Sam glared at his father as he grabbed his heavy jacket and left out the door. The heavy wood wasn't open for long, but the icy chill still swept in and seemingly sucked the warmth from the house. Winter in Dixon, Montana was downright torture. No amount of bundling seemed to escape the artic chill. The average for this time of year during the day was in the twenties with the lows in the teens. Not to mention the wind chill that kept it feeling well below zero. Dean turned without a word, and left to continue sitting in front of the television while Sam did all of the work.

"Dean! We're both supposed to be looking up all we can about whatever it is in this town; not just me." Sam complained.

"Oh lighten up Sammy-"

"It's Sam," he interrupted angrily.

"You sound like a girl," he continued as if Sam hadn't said anything at all. "I'm just relaxing for a while before I start doing it." Sam stormed off. Dean was so lazy. He never did any of the work, and he always got the credit because Sam always ended up doing it all alone. He made sure to stomp up the stairs, and just because he could, slam the door as hard as he could as well because he was seriously done with Dean's attitude.

The room they shared stared back as him. With two dingy mattresses and sleeping bags on top of them, it wasn't much. He dumped himself on his bed, and grabbed his book bag. Grabbing the ancient book, he opened the yellowed pages and started researching what they were up against.

Next time Sam looked at the clock, four hours had passed. Surprised, he decided to take a well-deserved break. He stood up and stretched his stiff spine, relishing in the feeling. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, grabbing himself an apple from the counter. It wasn't a surprise to see Dean in the same position he left him in, sprawled out on the couch and flipping through channels much too fast to possibly see what was on them.

"Dean you said you were going to work. If Dad comes home and sees you haven't done anything, he's going to belt you." Dean for the most part simply rolled his eyes.

"I'll have it done, Sammy." Dean glanced at his brother, waiting for a response at the hated nickname. Sam glared, but much to his disappointment, didn't comment on it. He looked at his watch and rose from the fallen-in couch. He was chilled from the lack of activity, and wanted to take a hot shower. Sam took his place as he munched on his apple.

Dean took his time in the shower, mostly because it felt amazing, but also because he knew Sam would throw a tantrum if he used up all the hot water. Seriously, that boy complained more than a girl. It was just so much fun to rile up his younger brother. And these days it was far too easy to do.

Finally when the water had turned just on the side of cold enough to be unpleasant, he turned off the faucets and left the bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist for the walk to the bedroom. He threw on clothes quickly to keep the chill of the house from making him cold again. The heating in this place was truly terrible. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The journal where he and Sam wrote their notes on the paranormal creatures in the cities. He flipped through it quickly. There, right under the name Dixon, Montana in Sam's neat handwriting were notes about all the people affected by whatever it was that was plaguing this city.

He was sure his Dad would belt him if he found out that he just sat around all day instead of working, and he was sure scared of his father's wrath. So he took it. He tucked it under his shirt and made his way downstairs. Sam was still on the couch munching on his apple, eye glued to some boring documentary on the television. Sam had awful taste in entertainment. Sam gave him a strange look, but thankfully didn't say anything.

Dean slipped into the kitchen and settled down into one of the chairs at the table. He took out the journal and the laptop and began sifting through articles like he was busy working. He knew their Dad would be home soon.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later the door opened, and John's booming voice cut through the silence of the house.

"Sam, why are you sitting around while you should be working?" About that time he walked into the kitchen to see his eldest son scribbling down notes, occasionally glancing at the laptop in front of him.

"Even Dean has been working!" He yelled. It seems John had a bad day. His face looked ragged and worn and his clothes were wrinkled. Sam came into the kitchen sputtering.

"But I have been working Dad! I just took a break because I'd been working for hours! Dean's the one that's been sitting around doing nothing!" John picked up the journal from the table and read through it.

"It looks like he's been doing plenty of work. Dean, why don't you take the rest of the day off and relax. Sam, you are to work until I tell you to stop." His expression brokered no arguments.

"But-But Dad!" Sam stuttered.

"No Sam. No arguments or so help me I'll belt you right now." Sam turned bright red, but to his credit didn't say anything. John left the room. Sam glared at his brother as Dean stood up. He would get his revenge.

"Have fun Sammy!" Dean couldn't help but adding before sweeping out of the room.

John yawned, staggering into the kitchen as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was late, or was it early? He turned on the coffee maker. He was almost out the door before he saw someone sitting at the table. Well, not sitting more as slumped against the table. Sammy had one arm cushioning his head, books and papers scattered all around him. Sammy looked truly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale. Why was he still working? Slowly, John's tired mind supplied what he had said earlier: "Sam you work until I tell you to stop."

John groaned softly. After the fight with Sam he went to his room and buried himself in his work before falling asleep on his bed until waking just recently. Unable to go back to sleep and having to get up in just a few hours anyways, he got up to get himself ready. He had to be out before four to get to the hunt on time.

He gently laid his hand on Sammy's long hair. It would have to be cut soon, he thought distantly. John stood there for a moment, just taking in the moment where he could be near Sam without them being at each other's throats. They were constantly fighting about one thing or another. Heaving a sigh, he gently shook Sam's shoulder.

"Come on Sammy," he whispered gently when his youngest son stirred. Large, brown eyes stared up at him blearily. "Get to bed. You have school in a few hours. I'll be back later in the afternoon. This hunt shouldn't take too long"

Sam nodded absently and stumbled upstairs as his Dad left out the front door. When he made it to his room he pulled back his sleeping bag, fully intent on slipping inside. He was freezing and sore from sleeping on the kitchen table.

"Sammy, check the salt lines," Dean mumbled. Sam's head shot up in surprise.

"Dean, you were supposed to do that! I have school in a few hours!" he complained. His body was exhausted and his bed was calling him.

"I forgot, and it has to be done. You're already up, so stop complaining and do it already. You know why we have to check them." Dean's voice was beginning to sound agitated.

"Nothing's going to get us! Plenty of people don't have salt lines and nothing bad happens to them." Sam continued.

"We aren't normal people, Sammy. Now just shut up and check them." With that, Dean turned over fell back asleep. Sam huffed and threw down the edge of the sleeping bag he had been holding. He stomped over to the window in their room, checking it. He stomped downstairs and checked all the windows and doors.

_What would Dean do if one wasn't intact?_ He thought to himself. A plan began concocting in his mind. He would show Dean that nothing bad came from a night without salt lines, and when his Dad came home and saw one wasn't intact, he would get onto Dean because it was his job to check the salt lines. Finally Dean would be the one to get in trouble. Sam smiled to himself, and walked over to a far window in the living room. As quickly as he could he blew out a piece of it, then scrambled back upstairs and into his warm sleeping bag. He still had the smile on his face when he slipped off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sammy shot straight up in his bed, chest heaving for much-needed oxygen. Something had woken him up from his sleep. He glanced around the room wildly.

Suddenly, the shrill beeping started up again. Sam sighed and wiped his hand across his face. It was just his alarm clock telling him that…wait! He was going to be late for school! The bright red numbers blinked back at him as if trying to tell him that he had slept through the first few alarms that went off.

He leapt from his bed, haphazardly throwing on clothes from the floor. He wasn't sure whether they were clean or not, but at this point he didn't care. If he didn't get his butt moving he was going to be late for class and land him a front row seat in detention.

Two minutes later he ran into the kitchen, almost slamming straight into his brother.

"Sammy! There you are. I was just about to come get you. Take you long enough to get ready this morning. Were you trying a new hairstyle?" He asked, eyeing the jumbled mess that more resembled a rat's nest than hair. Sam scowled at him.

"I slept in, you dork. Why didn't you wake me up when you got up?" Dean hesitated, the cocky smile slipping from his face.

"I thought I'd let you sleep a little longer. I know you didn't come to bed until late last night because of what I did. I'm sorry that I lied to Dad, Sammy. I know I should have been working. But I'll make it up to you. While you're at school I'll research and when you come home we can just watch TV until Dad gets here. Then we can give him the research I did and say we both worked on it."

Sam was shocked speechless. Not only did his brother apologize, something he seldom ever did, but he also volunteered to do the work and share half the credit with him. Lazing around on the couch on a Friday afternoon did sound appealing.

"So…we cool?" Dean ventured slowly, pulling Sam from his musings.

"Yea man. We cool." Dean's cocky smirk went back into place, and he straightened up.

"Well then," he stated happily. "Get a move on, Sammy. You're going to be late for school as it is. I'll see you after detention. Come straight home. No side tracks to the arcade or something." Sam groaned. The prospect of sitting in detention for three hours did not sit right with him. At least he could get his homework done for the weekend, and not have to worry about it during their hunt. Head bowed in defeat of his fate, he followed Dean out to the Impala.

Sam settled down in his chair with a sigh. He was, as Dean had predicted, late for class and walked into the classroom only to receive a bright pink slip of paper declaring he had detention after school from three to six. So much for sitting around watching TV until his Dad got home, but at least he wouldn't have to take the heat for getting detention instead of doing research. It sure would save him the hours of lecture from his Father about responsibility to the hunt and the family.

Something tickled the back of his mind, and he drowned out his teacher's dull voice to concentrate on it. He felt as if he had forgotten something. He had his lunch, Dean had given him a paper bag containing a single sandwich. It seems Dean really did feel guilty about what happened if he went as far as to pack him a lunch.

Then it hit him. The salt lines! For a single moment, dread filled Sam. Dean was left unprotected inside the house. Anything could happen! Panic rose almost to the attack mode inside of Sammy until he put a cap on the emotion.

Surely Dean would check the salt lines if he had not done so already. He always checked them every morning and night. And if anything did get in Dean could handle it. He could handle anything. Sam wrapped that thought around himself, and felt his anxiety diminishing. Everything handled, he turned his attention back to his teacher and began writing his notes.

Dean set the laptop down on the kitchen table next to the journal that had sat there since last night. Another pang went through Dean at the thought of Sam sitting alone for hours in the dark because of him. The guilt was eating him alive. He should have just taken the belting for not doing the work. That pain couldn't be anywhere near what he was feeling now.

Dean went through his mental checklist. _Journal, check. Laptop, check. Snack, check. Salt lines…_ No he hadn't checked the salt lines. He rose from the chair to go do that, but then hesitated. Sammy said he checked them just last night, and no one would have touched them. And he wanted to do as much work as he could to make up for what he did. He trusted Sam. If he said he checked the lines, then they were intact.

Dean sat back down and began looking through articles. Sam already highlighted a few beings that could be the cause of the disappearances and murders, so all he had to do was eliminate all but the culprit.

Four hours later and he finally had what he was almost certain was the creature. An Arachne. There had been signs of strange webs in the forest that lied just outside of town. In fact, the house they were staying at was on the edge of town and the woods were in their backyard. The people that went missing could easily be the ones that the creature turned, and the ones they found dead must be ones he decided not to take to his lair and feast upon where they were killed.

A loud thump above him drew his attention from the laptop. Something was upstairs. A fleeting thought of it being nothing but a rat crossed his mind, but hair was already standing up on his neck.

Dean stealthily crept towards the stairs, taking a moment to grab the machete that his Dad always kept in the couch. One of the windows caught his eye. There was a clear break in the salt there. Something had gotten in.

Upstairs, he paused at the top and looked around. Everything looked to be in place, but he just couldn't quell the thought that something was very close. All of a sudden something leapt from the ceiling above him and slammed into Dean.

The teenager went flailing backwards, and suddenly there was no ground underneath him. Dean fell down the stairs hard, each step beating a new spot into him. He heard a few cracks, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. After what felt like an eternity, he finally landed at the bottom in a crumpled heap.

The human-looking creature slowly made his way down the stairs, baby blue eyes boring into its prey. Dean tried to get up, but limbs collapsed underneath him when he tried, but he managed to grab the machete that had luckily landed beside him. The Arachne was on him now, tongue licking across its lips. It grabbed Dean by the neck and lifted him off the ground.

Dean swung out with the blade, catching the Arachne on the neck. It didn't cut his head off, but black blood oozed out rapidly. It shrieked and dropped the teen to the floor. Dean was awake long enough to see the creature flee before blackness swarmed him and he knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the issue with chapter 1 and chapter 2. I write the chapters during one of my classes, and I don't always realize I've made a mistake. Hope the story is getting good. I read every review and I absolutely love to hear how it's going. Enjoy.

Sam thrust open the doors of the school, and breathed in the frigid air. The sun was shining despite the blizzard forecasted for that night. He was finally free from that place, and the day was looking up. Sure he had gotten detention, but he was done for the rest of the day. He had no homework to worry about for the weekend and no research. Maybe Dean had even figured out what creature was plaguing the city.

With that thought in mind, and a pep in his step, Sam quickly made his way to the house. He let his mind wander back to the car ride. Dean had been surprisingly fun to hang with. It had been a long time since he had fun just hanging with his big brother. Dean was always busy doing things for their Father.

"_Don't get used to these luxury rides there Sammy. I'm not a chauffeuring business. It's just because you're late already that I'm giving you a lift."_ Dean had said. It made him laugh to himself. He couldn't see Dean wearing a cap like those guys did in the limos and opening doors for rich people.

Sam walked up to the house at the same time a truck pulled into the driveway. His Dad climbed out and gave him a nod to acknowledge him.

"Sammy, what are you doing home at this time? Didn't school let out hours ago?" Panic filled Sam.

"Oh, um, I was just spending a few extra hours at school…doing some extra credit," he finished lamely. His Dad eyes him for a few long moments, watching his squirm. Sam truly was the worst liar, but he let the lie slide. It was Friday, and he was tired. He didn't have time to weasel out of his son what he had been doing for three hours. He was probably hooking up with some girl or something.

John nodded slowly, and turned towards the door. Sam followed him inside, breathing a sigh of relief. He had gotten away with it. He was home free. And now Dean would have the research, and then they could just relax for the rest of the day.

John turned the knob and walked straight towards the kitchen. Sam made his way in hesitantly. Something felt wrong in here. He turned the corner, and gasped.

"Dad!" He screamed as he rushed towards his brother. Dean was a bloody mess, lying still at the base of the stairs. He was deathly pale, and if Sam hadn't seen the small rise and fall of his chest, he would have thought him dead. He fell to his knees beside Dean, hands hovering frantically over him, trying to see where best to put his hands on him without hurting him more than he already was.

John came barreling in, but stopped quickly when he saw the state of his eldest son with his youngest boy nearly sobbing over him. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor, and kneeled down beside Dean. He placed his hand under his nose, and caught the small puff of air. Good, he was breathing. Then he placed his fingers against Dean's neck, and found the pulse. It was weak and thready, but at least it was there.

"Did he fall down the stairs?" Sammy asked out loud. John looked at Dean's injuries closely. Yes, it seemed he had fallen down the stairs, but something pushed him.

"There is bruising around his neck. Something got him," John said gruffly. "How could something get in?" He continued. Sam's eyes grew comically wide. Anger spiked through the Winchester patriarch.

"Sam," he growled. "How. Did. Something. Get. In?" Each word was slow and measured. John meant business. Sam's lip trembled slightly.

"I…I thought we'd be fine. I never thought…I didn't mean…"

"Out with it, boy!" John yelled over his son's blabbering. Instead of answering John's question, Sam simply pointed towards a window in the living room. John glanced at it, and everything became clear. A clear break in the salt was visible, just to the side.

"Did you do that?" he asked calmly. Sam winced. He knew that voice. It was the calm before the storm.

"I thought it'd be fine for one night. I was tired after staying up, and getting into bed, and then Dean told me to check the salt lines. I mean, plenty of families don't have salt lines, and nothing ever happens to them. And then this morning I forgot. I thought Dean would check them, I swear! I didn't mean for Dean to get hurt" he cried. John just stared at his youngest son with something akin to hate.

"So let me get this straight. You intentionally broke the salt line to prove to Dean that nothing bad would happen? And because of that decision something bad did happen? And Dean could die because of you?" Sam flinched at every question. It all sounded badly when his Father put it that way.

"I-" Sam was cut off as a giant shadow went barreling past him and slammed into his Father, who in turn, went flying into the wall. The thing turned around and settled its baby blues on Sam. Sammy sucked in a deep breath. That thing. It was an Arachne. It was one of the creatures that he had highlighted in the journal as the cause of the town's turmoil. I guess they now knew what it was.

The creature smiled at Sam, jagged teeth dripping drool and venom over the front of its face. It looked down at Dean and licked its lips. So this thing was what attacked Dean, and it was here to finish the job. A crusty gash on the side of its neck drew Sam's eye. So Dena had gotten a hit in after all. That's right! The only way to kill an Arachne was by beheading it. Sammy looked around wildly, finally spotting the handle of the machete hidden under the couch. Looks like it had been tossed there during Dean's fight with the creature.

He scrambled towards it on his hands and knees. His earsplitting cry shattered the silence when something pierced into his back. For a moment, everything went white. The next thing Sam became aware of was his Father yelling at him to get up, and the cool wood of the floor pressing against his cheek. He could feel the Arachne looming behind him as he writhed in agony on his belly.

Sam blinked a few times, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision. His hand closed around the machete handle, and at the same time he swung around and struck with the sharp blade. It hit its mark, severing the creature's head from its body.

The body crumbled to the floor, twitching, before it went still. Sam dropped the machete, taking huge gulps of shuttering breaths. The pain in his back was all-consuming. He looked over at his brother, and crawled over to him. John was already there checking over his injuries.

"Dad, I-" he began, but John cut him off.

"Not now Sam."

"But Dad…my back…"

"I said not now Samuel!" Sam flinched. His Father never used that name with him. He didn't mean to complain about his back, but it was sending waves of agony rippling through his small frame, and he could feel it oozing blood all over his shirt. John was mumbling to himself before he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.

"Yes, I need an ambulance right away," he said into the phone. He recited off the address before hanging up on the woman.

"Samuel, get the blanket off your bed for Dean." Sam knew better than to argue. He painfully pulled his feet underneath him, swaying violently when he stood up. Bright spots were flashing in front of his eyes and bile rose in his throat.

"Now Samuel!" His Father barked loudly. Sam shuffled up the stairs, grabbing the blanket before making his way back down slowly. The spots never left his vision, nor did his stomach settle.

"Took you long enough," his Father grumbled. He snatched the blanket from Sam's grip and tucked it carefully around his eldest son, taking a moment to brush the bangs off Dean's forehead.

"Samuel, I want you to wait up in your room until we get back."

"But Dad! I want to go with you! I want to make sure Dean's ok!"

"Excuse me? I just gave you an order," his Dad fumed. Sam hesitated, but squared his shoulders and held his ground.

"I'm going." A knock sounded at the door, and John rose to answer it.

"No you aren't."

"Yes I am!" Sam cried, rising with him and gripping his sleeve. Sam never saw the fist coming until it connected solidly with his cheek. Sam went down on his butt like a ton of bricks while John heaved over him, hands still clenched in fists.

"Do you think this is some game!" He roared. "This isn't some yes or no battle between us! This is Dean's life! You're not coming because you've done quite enough! You almost killed him just like you killed your mother!" By now he had bent down and was screaming in Sam's face. Sam was staring up at him with wide, hurt eyes, trembling violently.

Another knock sounded at the door. John knew he had gone too far, but he didn't know a way to fix what he said so he just straightened and went to answer the door. Paramedics rushed past him, and when John turned around, Sam was nowhere to be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't know why, but I had the hardest time writing this chapter. I just had problems coming up with ideas on where I wanted this story to go. I hope this chapter doesn't totally stink. Again, reviews are most helpful. Good or bad, doesn't matter. I like to hear how this story is going.

Sam stumbled up to his room gasping for air between his sobs. He managed to flop down on his belly onto the bed before he completely broke down. Burying his face in his arm to muffle the sound, he could hear the paramedics downstairs working on Dean. A few words like internal hemorrhaging, cyanosis, and shock pierced through his muddled brain, but Sam could barely hear them over his father's words replaying in his head over and over.

"_You intentionally broke the salt lines…Dean could die because of you…Samuel!...Do you think this is some game?...You've done quite enough…You almost killed him…Just like you killed your mother…Killed your mother…" _Sam covered his ears whining, but still the words rang loudly, haunting him with their truth.

He had asked about his mother a few times, but all Dean would say was that she died protecting Sam in his room. Dad would never tell him anything about her. He just got this strange look in his eyes, and then locked himself in his room. Dad was right. If Sam had never been born then his mother wouldn't have given her life to protect him.

The slam of the door broke through his reflections. The house was eerily silent, the only sound being the wind beating against the walls of the house. Sam raised his head to look around when a blast of frigid wind brushed across him. The windows in the room were all shattered, doing nothing to hold back the growing blizzard. Sam went to get up, but pain stabbed through his back, causing him to fall back on his face with a muffled scream.

Something was terribly wrong. He could still feel blood steadily pumping out of his body. His phone. He needed to call his Dad. But his phone was on the nightstand, nestled right under one of the broken windows. Sam tried to push himself up, but his arms collapsed on him again, leaving him to writhe in agony.

Maybe he would just lay here for a bit and catch his breath. The more he thought of that, the more it sounded like a great idea. Yea. He would just shut his eyes for a few seconds and rest, and then grab his phone, call his Dad, and everything would be alright. Everything…would…be… Sam closed his eyes and the waiting darkness surged forward to wrap him in its sweet oblivion.

The ride to the hospital passed in a blur for John. He kept sweeping his hand through his hair, watching helplessly as the EMTs worked around Dean's pale frame. They put a neck around Dean's neck, and shoved a needle into his wrist. Someone pressed a bag to his face and pushed air into his lungs.

Suddenly they were at the hospital and things were a whirlwind of activity again. Dean was pushed on the gurney down the bright hallway while doctors and nurses took the place of the EMTs before disappearing behind a swinging door. John walked forward to follow, but a burly man stepped in his way.

"You can't go in there Sir."

"But that's my son!" John protested.

"I understand that Sir, but let them have room to work. I promise that they're doing all they can to save your son. Why don't you just wait in the waiting room, and fill out the forms. The lady at the counter will give them to you." John grumbled, but relented. He knew he would just be in the way if he got what he wanted.

After grabbing the forms from the lady, he settled down with a sigh.

Sammy's eyes shot open. He had no idea how long he had been asleep for, but he was freezing. Deep shivers wracked his frame to the core. His neck was stiff when he lifted his head to look around. Snow had blown in and was piling inside the window. The drift had already nearly buried the little nightstand.

Something about that observation tugged at the back of Sam's mind, but he couldn't quite remember. In fact, he couldn't remember why he was laying here, or why his back ached. Sam strained his tired mind. Suddenly, everything came back in a rush. The Arachne, Dean, his Father's harsh words, the blood. He needed to call his Dad!

Slowly, Sam dragged himself across the floor. Every move shot crippling pain through his back, but he bit his lip and kept on. He knew he would die if he stopped to rest now. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to make it to the nightstand and knock his phone to the floor beside him before his arms collapsed.

With numb fingers he dialed the ingrained number and settled it beside his ear.

John looked at the doctor expectantly who was scribbling notes calmly on a clipboard. John couldn't help it when he began tapping his foot on the floor. He was anxious to hear of Dean's condition. Finally, the doctor's scribbling came to an end and he glanced up.

"Mr…" he glanced down at his clipboard briefly. "Bailey. Your son, Dean, was admitted a few hours ago with superficial internal bleeding, respiratory distress, and multiple fractures resulting from a fall down the stairs?" He paused as John nodded.

"I'm Doctor Rice and I attended to your son's injuries. For a fall like that I was surprised his injuries weren't more severe. He sustained a fracture in the distal end of his femur, three broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung, and a slight crack in his pelvis. We pinned his leg, and sewed up his lung, but everything else should heal in time."

John stared at the doctor a few moments, letting it all sink in. It was a lot better than he first thought.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course, he's in room 212. He's still under the anesthesia, but should wake up relatively soon." John was already walking down the hall before the doctor had finished talking. He didn't pause outside Dean's room before he walked in.

Dean was lying in the furthest bed from the door. He was still and almost as white as the sheets underneath him except for the dark bruises that dotted his skin. He sat down on the chair beside the bed, and as gently as he could, picked up Dean's hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it. Dean's brows scrunched up, and a small sigh escaped his lips.

"Hey Dean-o. Open your eyes buddy. Can you do that for me?" It took a few tries, but in the end, Dean's green orbs stared back blearily at his father. He opened his mouth and croaked. John immediately picked up an ice chip from the cup by the bed and placed it on Dean's tongue. Dean's eyes wandered aimlessly as he sucked on the ice.

"Wha-"

"You were attacked by an Arachne. It pushed you down the stairs, but you scared it of before it could get you." Dean nodded slowly, eyes still wandering. Finally his eyes settled back on John.

"Sammy…?" he mumbled.

"Samuel's at the house." Dean's brows pressed together, but before he could ask why Sam was at home instead of here, a phone interrupted them. John fished his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the number. A frown marred his face as he recognized it as Sam's cell. He thought for a moment about ignoring the call, but he pushed that thought away. Steeling himself, he pressed accept and pressed the metal to his ear.

"What do you need Samuel?" he snapped, rougher than he intended. The other side of the phone was silent save for the sound of rapid breathing.

"What do you need? I'm busy." More silence. John almost hung up, but a soft voice spoke up.

"Dad…I'm sorry…something…my back…blood…maybe…maybe this is better…didn't mean…I'm sorry…"

"Sam, what are you sorry for? Sam!" But the other end was quiet. Not even the breathing could be heard anymore. Panic speared through John. He could sense something was wrong. He immediately shot to his feet, and ran out the door.

"_Hang on Sammy," _he thought desperately.


	5. Chapter 5

I really don't think this chapter went well. I had the hardest time with it, so sorry in advance. I hope its enjoyable anyways. Reviews are my drug.

John slammed on the brakes to his truck right in front of the house, and before the vehicle came to a stop he was running towards the door, truck's engine still running. He burst through the door, leaving the door wide open, before stopping in his tracks.

The house was freezing. Why was it so damn cold in here? He began his frantic search around the house for his baby boy. He tore up the stairs to Sam and Dean's room, and froze. There were Sam, legs and face barely visible past the snow that covered him.

The broken window over his son is what was responsible for letting the cold and snow in. His cellphone was still clutched in his lax fingers. There was blood everywhere, covering Sam's clothes and the snow underneath him.

"Sammy!" He cried, sprinting over and brushing the snow off frantically. Sam's face was blue and slack, and freezing to the touch when John rubbed his hands on Sam's cheeks.

"Come on Sammy. Wake up! Please Sammy. You can do it. Just open your eyes for me." Slowly, Sam's eyes fluttered, disturbing the snowflakes that clung to the lashes. After what seemed like an eternity, Sam's unfocused orbs stared back at John. He tried to shift, but all he accomplished was sending shards of pain spiking through his back.

"Hey there Sammy." He tried to smile reassuringly, but it probably came out more as a grimace. "Can you tell me what hurts?" asked John, upon seeing his son's pained expression. Sam wanted to tell him that there was something wrong with his back and his dad would fix it and make everything ok, wanted to tell him he was freezing, but his thoughts were all muddled and confused.

"Da…Dad…." Was all that ended up coming out of his chapped lips.

"Yea, it's me buddy," John murmured, checking Sam's neck for injury so that he could move him out of the snow and somewhere warmer. Seeing no injury, he pulled Sam towards him, but abruptly stopped when Sam let out a blood-curdling wail.

"What? What is it? What hurts? Come on Sammy. Tell me what hurts so I can make it better," John demanded desperately, hands running over Sam to find what ailed his son.

"Da...d…'m sorry…" Sam mumbled, eyes slipping shut.

"No! Stay awake Sam. You can't go to sleep yet. Stay awake! You have nothing to be sorry for. You hear me? I didn't mean what I said. You didn't kill Mary. What happened wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault! Sammy!" But Sam's eyes had drifted closed, a single tear making its way down his cold cheek before John wiped it away.

He continued to check over Sam's body, mind replaying the words he had said to Sam over and over. Finding nothing on Sam's front, he carefully rolled him to his back, and promptly choked back a sob.

There was a large tear in Sam's shirt, revealing a huge stab wound that was still seeping Sam's lifeblood. When John touched the heated edges, even unconscious, Sam arched away from the touch. There was no getting around it. Sam needed a hospital fast. He threw the comforter off Sam's bed over him and as carefully as he could, John pushed one arm under Sam's knees, and one under his back, just above the bleeding wound. Quickly he made his way down the stairs, and settled Sam into the passenger seat of his car.

He grabbed a rag from the backseat and folded it against the wound before putting a seatbelt over his limp son, and ran to the driver's side. Soon they were putting miles between them and the house. It was a fifteen minute drive to the hospital, but John made it in five.

He threw the truck in park, and ran around to the other side. John ripped the seatbelt off Sam, and gathered him in his arms before tearing into the hospital screaming for help.

Instantly, a few doctors and nurses rushed over, one thankfully pulling a gurney. John laid Sam down on the mobile bed, and stepped back as they swarmed him. Unfortunately, Dean's doctor decided in that moment to come around the corner.

"John, what is the meaning of this? Is this Sam? Dean has been beside himself calling for his brother. We had to sedate him. What happened?" Dr. Rice demanded. John racked his brain for anything to cover what happened, but nothing could excuse both his sons lying in the hospital at the same time. Dr. Rice's eyes hardened.

"Actually I was looking for you. I wanted to discuss the strange bruising around Dean's throat. It looked a lot like hand marks," he stated, eyes drifting down to John's other son. He motioned to the guards that had been following him around. As one, they swarmed the father and detained him. John fought back wildly, punches flying and feet striking out, but the odds were not in his favor. It was four burly guards against one exhausted man.

"Please," he cried. "I have to stay with Sam! I have to be there for my sons!" Dr. Rice shook his head sadly.

"I believe this is what is best for your sons. I am thinking about their safety. You will be incarcerated until it is deemed you are not abusing your sons." They took John kicking and strewing a dictionary full of insults from the hospital, as the boy on the gurney went the opposite direction.


End file.
